


Charlie Weasley and the Wild Wandmaker

by ScaleGoblet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23231272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaleGoblet/pseuds/ScaleGoblet
Summary: Just something I had in mind for my Harry Potter oc.
Relationships: Charlie Weasley/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 20





	1. Coming Home

Training dragons was and always would be a hazardous industry and, as a dragon tamer, Charlie Weasley was no stranger to that fact. Over the years working in Romania, he had had countless dragon related injuries and emergencies and wore nicks, scrapes, and scars in the same way others wore medals. Still though, there was a first time for everything, he thought, as the Chinese Fireball he'd been attempting to stun and capture set his wand alight in a burst of brilliant scarlet flame. 

There were plenty of capable wandmakers in Romania, he knew, but Molly Weasley sensed trouble like a heat-seeking missile and, when he wrote to her checking up on the family and describing what had happened, she demanded that he return home at once to get a proper wand at Ollivanders. 

A younger Charlie might have written off this request, his mother had always had a nasty habit of hovering, but having lost so many friends and- God- even members of his own family, he understood the plea for what it was. She was worried about him.

And that was what landed him home at The Burrow.

Charlie didn't bother knocking, opening the front door and setting his bag down to the side. Immediately he was enveloped in a hug, his mum repeating, “My Charlie's home,” as if she didn't quite believe it herself. Feeling a tad guilty, he squeezed back. 

“Yeah, mum,” he said, throat tightening. “Yeah I'm home.”

Beyond the embrace of his mother, Charlie could see that, even after the repairs, little had changed about the old house. It was almost vibrating with magic. He could hear the clatter of the pots and pans going in the kitchen cooking breakfast no doubt as Molly continued to hug him. Warm sunlight streamed through the windows and the family ghoul rattled and moaned from the attic. The couches and chairs were strewn with knitted blankets and afghans and Charlie could see his mother's needles clicking away at the next round of Weasley family jumpers. 

God why didn't he come home more often?

Realizing finally that he needed to breathe like everyone else, Molly stepped back, keeping her hands on his shoulders and admiring her son. She jolted as a thought seemed to occur to her.

“Good heavens! The others don't even know that you're here yet!”

Charlie started at that. “Others? Mum I told you I'm just here to-”

“Boys! Ginny!” she shouted ignoring him and moving for the stairs. “Come down here and say hello to your brother!”

“Mum,” Charlie insisted again. “I'm just here to get a new wand, you didn't have to go and invite everyone.”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say and, the moment that Molly put her hands on her hips, Charlie realized what a grave mistake he'd made.

“Excuse me!” she began incredulously. “Of course I've gone and invited them, Charlie. I cannot believe what I'm hearing! You don't visit, you don't call. Your poor mother and father are lucky if they can get a letter from you even once every two months -”

“Mum please,” Charlie attempted to say, but she pressed on. 

“- and what do you have to say when we finally get your letter? ‘Oh hello mum hello dad my bloody dragon nearly killed me, how's the garden coming?’”

At that moment, likely having heard the commotion, Arthur made his way downstairs. “Everything alright, my darling?” he asked, kissing his wife soundly on the cheek. Before she could answer, he stepped swiftly over to Charlie pulling him into a hug. “I'm so glad you're here, son.”

“I'm glad to be here dad,” Charlie replied, “but like I've just told mum, I really have to-”

“Arthur! You tell your son that he will not be going anywhere so soon!”

Arthur looked between the two, his darling wife and beloved son, and made the correct choice. “Sorry, Charlie but your mother has a point. Besides everyone's here to see you, I'm sure you can spare just one day for your dear family.”

Charlie closed his eyes for a few moments and accepted that his schedule would need to be changed. Just a bit. He made a mental note to Floo his boss in the morning. 

“Alright you win,” he said finally. “But if everyone’s here, where are they exactly?”

His mother froze for a second, stunned that he'd given up so easily before springing into action. “Boys you get down here right this instant or there'll be no breakfast left for any of you!”

There was an indignant shout followed by the sound of pounding feet. Molly hurried into the kitchen to finish up the meal. 

“Good on you, son,” Arthur said, clasping his shoulder. “We really do miss you.”

Charlie looked hard at his father. The years had taken a hefty toll on him. What hair he had left was far more silver than red these days and the lines in his face were growing deep-set. He thought back to that night, the night that Harry saw . . . what he saw. 

Throat stopping once again, Charlie said, “And I miss you all too, dad.”

Satisfied, Arthur clapped his hands together. “Brilliant! Now, what have you brought me?” he asked excitedly. 

Charlie laughed and reached into his pocket. “Unfortunately, I don’t have much, not like that rubber duck but,” he said, pulling out a small plane. “I hope this’ll do. It’s a muggle toy, figured it would tide you over until you figure out how the real thing works.”

Arthur’s face lit up. “Wonderful, Charlie! Absolutely wonderful! Ingenious muggles are, aren’t they?”

“Sure they are, dad,” Charlie replied but his father was already walking away, planning to disassemble the thing to see how it worked no doubt.

“Bloody hell he really is here,” Charlie heard. He turned finding Ginny paused on the stairs, Ron a few paces behind. She seemed unsure what to do for a moment and he couldn’t blame her. They weren’t exactly strangers, but he was distinctly aware of the fact that there was more going on in her life than he’d ever been aware of. She really was growing up, wasn’t she? He didn’t get the chance to finish this reflection before she launched herself at him.

“You idiot!” she said laughing. “What on earth was that letter?”

Charlie sighed. “Yeah, I’ve heard. I’m the worst son ever, you all miss me, and mum’ll never let me out of her sight again. That about sum it up?” 

Ginny pulled back and punched him hard in the shoulder. “You forgot the part where you bet me that the Harpies wouldn’t make it past the quarter finals of the World Cup. Pay up brother dearest.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Sure, just one second. Cough it up,” he said, turning to Ron.

Ron reached into his pocket. “Bloody hell you’ve only been home five minutes.” He pulled out a handful of Knuts, Sickles, and a single gold Galleon, dropping them into his brother’s outstretched hand. 

“Thank you,” Charlie drawled, counting out the appropriate amount of change and handing it off to Ginny. He put the rest in his pocket. “Believe me it hurts me to do this to you, Ronald. Wish you’d stop betting on the Canons. For your own sake.”

“Excuse me,” Molly said poking her head out of the kitchen, “but if we’re all finished running a gambling ring in my house, breakfast is ready.”


	2. Queenie Rivers

Mealtimes in the Weasley household were always a hectic affair. Molly and Ginny were busy at work putting down plates of food at the place settings and Ron dug in instantly, receiving a sharp rap across the knuckles for not waiting for the others.

Charlie chose one of the many mismatched chairs at the table just as there was a loud crack in the room, startling him. 

“Hello, family!”

“George Fabian Weasley! How many times do I have to tell you? You do not apparate in my house!”

“Sorry, mum,” George said, pulling up a chair. “I’m sure I’ll get it some day.”

Another crack and the eldest Weasley child appeared in the room.

“Bill!”

“Sorry, mum!” came the reply.

“Has anyone seen Percy yet?” Ginny asked, reaching across the table for the butter dish.

“I didn’t think he would be here until later with him working at the Ministry and all,” Harry replied.

“Oh, Harry! Everything alright? Those old trainers fit you well?” Arthur asked.

“Oh yes! Thank you, Mr. Weasley.” 

“Oh honestly, Harry you can call him dad, you’ve got to be one of us by now!” George remarked, patting Ron on the back as he choked on a gulp of orange juice.

“Oh, heaven’s sakes, settle down! Now, we’re all going to have a nice breakfast,” Molly said.

Charlie looked around the table at the many faces. He didn’t make it a point to visit home often, but he had missed this.

“So, Charlie? What brings you here exactly?” Harry asked curiously.

Charlie turned to him, piling eggs onto his plate. “The other week Hattie, that’s one of the dragons, beautiful Chinese Fireball, I mean absolutely gorgeous scales, multicolored eyes, spits indigo fire, a truly enchanting creature-” 

“A bit fond of the dragon there, are you, Charlie?” Ron joked, nudging George in the side.

“You should bring the old girl around, have her meet the family,” George offered helpfully.

“Anyway,” Charlie said pointedly. “Hattie got a bit agitated and we had to round her up. I held my wand out to do a Stunning and poof. One breath and it was ash.”

Harry nodded in understanding. “So I suppose you'll want a new one then?” 

“That's certainly the plan.”

“Yes it is and you can worry about it after you finish your breakfast,” Molly warned. Then, smiling warmly, she continued, “Charlie, dear, what have you been up to?”

“Yeah,” Ginny said. “You've got to have some insane stories from work.” At a sharp look from her mother, she amended her statement. “I mean, tell us about the other non dragon related elements of your fascinating life.”

When Molly wasn't looking, Charlie mouthed, “Later,” assuring Ginny that he would be sure to recount his adventures for her. “There's not much to tell,” he continued. 

“Oh c’mon, Charlie,” Bill said. “You've got to have something to tell us.”

Charlie chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint, brother, but, unlike you layabouts, I'm extremely busy. Dragon keeping: it's tough but someone has to do it.”

“That should be your slogan,” Molly quipped. 

“And I’m sure you’ve got some interesting stories anyways,” Charlie continued. “How’s my new niece?”

At this Bill launched into a story about the most recent heart attack his infant daughter had given him and Charlie relaxed, enjoying a wonderful meal with his family.

****************************************

“Now, be back in time for dinner, dear” Molly said. 

“You don’t have to worry, mum,” Charlie said, rolling his eyes. “I’m a grown man, I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will be,” she said warmly. “But that doesn’t mean your mother will never worry.”

Charlie nodded, taking a handful of green Floo powder and chucking it into the fire. The flames kicked up immediately, shifting acid green in the fireplace. Stepping into it he said, “Diagon Alley,” and was whisked away.

Opening his eyes, Charlie stepped out of the fireplace at Madam Malkin’s, brushing the soot off of his clothes and making his way for the door. He stepped outside, immediately getting caught up in the bustle of Diagon Alley. He made his way down the cobbled street, watching as witches and wizards hocked homemade Pepperup Potions and --- from their stalls. He stopped in front of Ollivanders.

Charlie looked up the shop’s sign. The paint had flaked so badly that most of it was illegible. He pushed open the door and found himself in the cramped shop. A sole spindly chair sat in the middle of the room and a small wooden counter was pushed near the wall. It seemed different than he remembered but Charlie didn’t have much time to examine the place before he was greeted by an unfamiliar face.

Popping up from behind the counter was a witch he had never seen. She seemed to have a curious case of the sniffles and she cast him a glance, examining him over the thick rim of her glasses before asking, “Can I help you find something?”

“Uh, yeah,” he replied unsurely. “I’m looking for Mr. Ollivander.”

“Oh!” the witch said abruptly. “Oh, of course! I’ll go and get him for you.” She disappeared through a small door he hadn’t noticed before, the man in question emerging after.

“Ah, Charlie Weasley, what can I do for you today?” he asked.

“I'm in need of a new wand, sir,” Charlie replied, slightly unnerved by the way the old wizard was staring at him.

“A new wand? What happened to the old wand? Quite a fitting pair you made as I recall.”

Charlie shrunk under Ollivander's wide stare. “It was a . . . casualty of a workplace emergency,” he replied slowly.

The old man's attention did not waver, his full moon eyes widening. “Ah, I see,” he said shortly. “Let’s get you fitted then,” he said. “Queenie,” he called and the witch from before poked her head out from the back room a moment later. “You’ve been wanting to try your hand at matching a customer for quite some time now. Would you care to assist this young man?”

She seemed stunned for a moment, mouth gaping open before she collected herself. “Certainly, Mr. Ollivander. I’ll do my best.”

“Wonderful, just give us a shout if you need anything,” he said, returning to the back of the shop with a final withering look at Charlie.

“Let’s see, start with measurements,” Queenie said to herself. “Please stand still, arms out.”

Charlie did as she said, but he jumped as she laid both hands on his chest. “Christ, what are you doing?” he asked.

She continued on, nonplussed. “I’m taking your measurements for your wand, now hold still.”

He tried to do as she said as Queenie continued moving her hands first across his chest, then from his shoulder down his arm, from wrist to elbow, and from his shoulder, crouching down to meet the floor. She muttered to herself the whole time, mentally ticking off numbers and making calculations. Finally, as she was fiddling with the skin over his funny bone, she seemed to grow content.

“I think I’ve got some ideas,” she said, straightening up and skirting around the room. Wand boxes were piled from floor to ceiling in the tiny space and she occasionally stumbled over them in her determined search. Charlie watched as she scooped a box from the floor with one hand and levitated one from up near the ceiling with the other. She placed them on the counter in front of her before grabbing another from a shelf for good measure.

“Try this one first,” she said with barely contained glee. “Aspen and phoenix feather, nine inches, very rigid. Try it out.”

Charlie hesitated, looking at the odd witch, before he gave the wand an experimental wave. Boxes from the stack of wands behind her flew from their places, whacking her in the back of the head.

“Interesting,” Queenie remarked, rubbing a spot that would undoubtedly be sore. “Ow, you really got me good.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Charlie replied. He was sure it was all part and parcel of working in a wand shop, but still he couldn’t imagine that being attacked by wands all day would be any fun.

“Quite alright,” she said, taking the wand from him and putting it back in its box. “Should have expected it really. Phoenix feather, it always acts out, you know.”

“Er- right,” Charlie agreed slowly. 

“Try this one next,” she said, thrusting a new wand into his hand. “Maple, this one. Unicorn hair, twelve inches, and delightfully springy.” 

Charlie waved this one as well, flinching as the glass of the old lantern next to them burst and they each flinched as glass shards flew.

“Alright?” Charlie asked but instead of answering, the witch folded her arms across her chest, thoughtful and annoyed. 

“I was sure that one would work,” Queenie said. “What with maple’s affinity for travellers. Okay, okay. Try this one,” she said, handing him the final wand she had picked out. “You might end up being a tricky match, but we’ll see.”

Charlie took the wand in hand and raised it before he was interrupted. “Wait just one second!” Queenie cried. She stepped back, opening a book over her head to hold as a shield and ducked behind the counter. “That one’s chestnut, phoenix feather core, ten and a quarter inches! It’s surprisingly solid!” she called. “Give it a wave!”

Instead, Charlie rested against the counter, peering over it at her. “Shouldn’t you be up here, y’know, making sure my wand’s a good fit?”

She raised up a bit to look at him, eyes barely visible over the desk edge. Sighing she said, “I suppose you’re right, but you must be careful this time.”

Charlie chose not to argue that he had in fact been being careful and gave a flick of his wrist. At once he felt a familiar warmth in his fingers and a shower of brilliant blue sparks shot out the end, casting twinkling light against the walls. At once the witch leapt up from behind the desk, pulling her own wand from her pocket and setting a nearby quill to begin taking notes.

“Of course that would be the right one!” she exclaimed. “Chestnut is a versatile wood but it does often prefer users gifted with magical creatures. Excellent! Will that be all, Mr. Weasley?” Queenie asked.

Charlie paused. “I - er, I don’t recall giving you my name.”

“You didn’t,” she said matter-of-factly, watching to be sure the quill got down everything intact.

“Have we met then?” he asked.

“Not really. We did go to Hogwarts around the same time. Not for long, though. I was in the same year as your brothers, the twins, you see.”

Charlie wracked his brain but couldn’t seem to remember her. It must have shown on his face as Queenie said, “Not to worry, not to worry. We weren’t ever friends. Different houses, different interests, no harm done.”

“Different houses?” Charlie asked.

“Ravenclaw tried and true. Now, might I ask, what was your previous wand made of?”

“I can’t say that I recall,” he replied, a bit jarred from the topic change. “I handed my first off to my brother, Ron, anyway when he went to Hogwarts, had the second for quite some time.”

“Let’s see, for your first visit, I would guess a wand of ash, likely a unicorn hair core too. Tricky combination for a hand-me-down wand. Tell me, did Ron ever struggle with magic while using your old wand?”

Charlie tensed at this. “Any particular reason you’re nosing around my family’s - er . . . wand history?” he finished lamely.

She gestured around the room with an easy smile on her face. “I work in a wand shop, Mr. Weasley, this is what I do and I intend to make it my career.”

“Uh huh,” he said, unsure how to respond. “Well, if Ron ever mentions it, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Oh, please do,” she said, undaunted. “It’s so rare we hear anything about our wands once they’ve gone. Now, if that’s everything, that’ll be seven Galleons.”

Charlie pulled the correct amount of change from his pocket and handed it off to the witch.

“Thank you kindly, Mr. Weasley, and thank you for choosing Ollivanders,” she said cheerily.

“Charlie,” he said before he could catch himself.

Her smile faltered. “Excuse me?”

“Call me Charlie. It’s just that - Lord knows how many Weasleys there are, “Mr. Weasley” could be any one of us. If you see me out and about, it’s just Charlie.”

Queenie blinked, eyes owlish behind her glasses before resuming her smile. “Well, alright, Charlie. Thanks for stopping in today.” She waved as the door shut behind him, bell tinkling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact I named Queenie and wrote this chapter before Fantastic Beasts came out and when it did and I saw that there was another Queenie it killed me.


End file.
